Broken by Sin: A Dark Mafia Romance

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, it hurts,” Tony moans, rolling from side to side. The bed’s drenched with his blood. “Fuck, please, please, Nico, call an ambulance. Please, I need an ambulance.”

“I’m going to ask one more time,” I say and press the gun against Tony’s head. He stares at me in utter terror. “Where’s Rinaldo?”

“Hiding,” he says quickly as sweat pours down his forehead. “He’s in the city still. I don’t know where, I swear on my life I don’t, but he’s still in the city.”

“How do you know?”

“He called me last night. He asked for money, but I don’t have any. I asked him where he’s at and he said he’s around and he’ll be okay. Then he hung up. I don’t know anything else, I swear.”

I stare into his eyes and keep the gun pressed against his head. I don’t think he’s lying. A gunshot to the knee plus the pressure of the barrel of my gun to the skull is enough to make an honest man out of a habitual liar.

Tony’s a decent kid. It’s a shame he got wrapped up in this.

But I’ll go as far as it takes to find out where Rinaldo’s hiding.

I pull my gun back and shove it into my holster. “We’ll call an ambulance now. When they come, you’ll tell them you did it to yourself. It was an accident when you were cleaning your gun.” I open his top drawer and sure enough, there’s a shiny-looking revolver lying on top of a Bible. I take it out and toss it into his lap. He flinches like it might explode.

“Yeah, okay, okay, I did it myself. An accident while I was cleaning it. God, please call.”

I use Tony’s phone to call and hold it to his ear so he can speak. He tells the operator where he is and begs her to hurry. I hang up when he’s done.

“Remember, if you keep your mouth shut, the Famiglia will take care of you.”

“Thank you,” he says, moaning in pain.

Fucking thanks me after I ruined his knee.

“If Rinaldo calls, you make sure you tell me exactly what he says, or I’ll find out and I’ll be back.”

I shake my head as I walk out of that room. Casso follows and we head out into the night. He’s quiet as he drives away from the house.

“So he’s still in Phoenix as of last night.” Casso drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “What’s that mean?”

“Means he doesn’t have a plan. It means he’s dangerous.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not yet. I’ll work on it.”

He lets out a long breath. “You should rethink my sister’s marriage proposal.” He looks over with a tense smile. “I don’t want to see her sent off to Dallas. I like having her around.”

I stare out the window and say nothing.

Marriage to Karah. There’s a part of me that wants it—that craves her tight body and beautiful lips.

And there’s another part of me that’d rather put my gun against my own knee and pull the trigger.

Chapter 12

Karah

I don’t leave my room for a full day after the indignity of getting rejected by Nico.

Fynn comes to visit. He brings me lunch and we talk over tea and sandwiches. I can tell he still blames himself for the attack, but he manages not to talk about it and only stares at the bruises on my throat a little bit.

Otherwise, I see nobody.

I keep expecting Papa to barge into my room to drag me off to Dallas, but the house is quiet and still.

I want to sit by the pool. Watching the water and soaking up the sunshine always makes me feel better—but I can’t bring myself to leave my room, not yet anyway. My wounds feel too fresh and Nico’s rejection still echoes through my brain.

Instead, I curl up in my chair and I sketch.

Nico’s face appears. I’m not sure what I’m doing until the scene shapes itself in rough strokes. He seems conflicted, angry, but restrained—the exact look he gave me when I asked him to marry me.

Like he wanted to do it, but was too afraid.

I close the sketchbook and toss it aside.

What am I doing? Why am I obsessing about Nico?

He saved me from Rinaldo, but that’s nearly over now.

I can move on. I should move on.

After another night of bad dreams—my father with his hands wrapped around the throat of a faceless woman—I decide to give in and park myself next to the pool.

Elise seems delighted when I sit down several chairs away from her.

“Oh, sweetie, getting out will be so much better than hiding in that sad little room of yours. Why don’t we take some pictures together? You look so cute in that bikini.” She frowns as she studies me. “Actually, never mind. Your bruises are a little bit—” She makes a gross face. “You know?”